


shake off the ghosts that whisper warnings

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M, yes i'm melding my two favourite things what of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 18:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30143430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Ian burns through five partners. He comes to Yassen after the fifth one dies of neural overload; knocks on Yassen's door in the dead of night.Yassen isn’t sleeping anyway. He wrenches the door open; takes in the sight of his friend, red-eyed, wild-haired. His heart stings. He sighs. “I have vodka in the cupboard,” he says, moving aside so that Ian can come in.“Thanks,” says Ian; exhausted; trying for a smile and falling flat. He slips inside, barely making a sound.
Relationships: Helen Rider/John Rider, Yassen Gregorovich & John Rider, Yassen Gregorovich/Ian Rider
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	shake off the ghosts that whisper warnings

**Author's Note:**

> i am SHIT at titles so i am once again borrowing from a song, this time the crane wives' song not the ghost

Yassen’s never particularly been interested in the combat side of the war. He’s more than content leaving that to the Rangers, happy to stay down in his small office and engineer parts for the Jaegers. He does his job well, and he likes it well enough, too. 

John Rider—Hunter, for his prolific kill record—asks him about it, once. “Don’t you ever wonder what it’s like to drift?” he asks. “To be in something, be part of something, bigger than you? Something with the power to fight a kaiju?”

“No,” says Yassen, truthfully; leaning on the older man’s shoulder. “I do not  _ want _ anyone in my head, and piloting a Jaeger requires it.” Unspoken:  _ I do not trust anyone in my head.  _ He thinks Hunter, eyes slightly glazed and drunk on shitty whisky, might just know what he means. “And I like being alive,” he tacks on. 

Hunter shrugs. “Your loss,” he says; and then: “I hope I stay alive for a while longer.”

His wife—Helen—is expecting, Yassen remembers. Hunter has promised he would name him godfather. The part of Yassen that’s still the nineteen-year-old who Hunter saved from the Cat. III kaiju Sharkovsky sings like a blade through the air—elation, fear, and something more. 

He offers a half-smile. “With your abilities,” he says, “I am sure you will live to see young Alex grow up.”

“Hn,” says Hunter, his head lolling to the side. “I’m not some fucking legend, Yassen.” It should sound sharp and reproachful but it just sounds unbearably fond. Yassen wonders how drunk the Ranger is; glances at the bottle and finds it half gone. 

“Perhaps we should return you to your quarters,” he suggests; raising his own head and disentangling himself from Hunter’s side. “I am sure your wife is missing you.”

Hunter laughs. “She’d miss me if I were there,” he says, fondly. “But you’re probably right. The room is starting to spin, anyway.”

Yassen grimaces; tugs the other to his feet. Hunter wobbles slightly before righting himself. They make their way out of Yassen’s office and down the cavernous hall towards Hunter’s quarters. 

“It’s the best feeling in the world,” Hunter says; apropos nothing. “Drifting,” he clarifies when Yassen gives him a  _ look _ . “It’s fear and trust and...everything and more. I know you’d hate to be that vulnerable but I think you’d love the feeling of the drift if you could get over it.”

Yassen keeps his face bland. “I will keep that in mind,” he says; in an effort to placate the man. And then: “We are here.”

After dropping Hunter off to his bemused wife, Yassen makes his way down to the LOCCENT. It’s his favourite place to visit on nights like this, when there will be no kaiju attacks for a good while and everyone is asleep soundly in their quarters. It's peaceful and dark and perfect for settling into a chair and admiring the sky through the giant skylight. 

Apparently, someone else has had the same idea tonight, because when Yassen rounds the corner, there’s a familiar figure already in a chair. 

“Yassen,” Ian greets, tilting his head. “Come, sit with me.”

Yassen contemplates leaving just to spite him. Hunter’s younger brother and fellow Ranger and three years Yassen’s senior, Ian Rider is a lanky, dark-haired man, who delights in walking the fine line between being Yassen’s rival and being one of his only friends. He is also disgustingly attractive, much to Yassen’s long-time dismay. 

In the end, he drags a chair over with a resigned sigh. “Ian,” he says. “You are up late.” 

Ian shrugs; the motion fluid. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says. And then, “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” He’s looking at Yassen, though, and the  _ thing  _ that’s been humming between them for years now is crackling. 

Yassen holds his gaze. “Yes,” he says. the distance between them seems paltry—

The familiar Breach alert blares suddenly, and they jerk apart. “What the fuck?” says Ian, scrambling out of his chair, “there’s not supposed to be an attack for another week—”

His voice is drowned out as the secondary warning system begins to wail as well. Yassen hurriedly puts their chairs back where they belong.

A moment later, personnel begin to arrive; sleep-wearied but quickly wakening. Ian disappears—to get ready, Yassen acknowledges distantly. There’s not much for him to do now, so he tries to just keep out of everyone’s way. 

The fight lasts ten hours. Helen Rider goes into labor halfway through, and delivers little Alex the same moment the kaiju rips Hunter from his jaeger, his lifesign blinking out. 

Yassen thinks he might be in shock. He drifts through the next week like some sort of shadow, operating on autopilot. 

They manage to recover Ian. He has to stay in the medbay for a week to recover. When they let him out, they instantly begin looking for a new partner for him. 

With only one other team left to defend them, the Marshal urges anyone capable of piloting a Jaeger to sign up for drift compatibility testing. 

Ten years pass. Alex grows up without a mother, Helen dying only a few days after giving birth. Yassen tries his best to be there, but looking at Alex is like looking at a young Hunter the older the boy gets. He’s not very good at staying around. 

Ian burns through five partners. He comes to Yassen after the fifth one dies of neural overload; knocks on the Yassen's door in the dead of night. 

Yassen isn’t sleeping anyway. He wrenches the door open; takes in the sight of his friend, red-eyed, wild-haired. His heart stings. He sighs. “I have vodka in the cupboard,” he says, moving aside so that Ian can come in. 

“Thanks,” says Ian; exhausted; trying for a smile and falling flat. He slips inside, barely making a sound. 

They drink straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. Ian tells him about growing up with Hunter. In return, Yassen tells him about his own childhood—growing up in a small town, tending to chickens. 

“You were a  _ country boy, _ ” Ian laughs. “Oh my god.” His eyes are softer now, not the bitter brown they were when Yassen opened the door. 

Yassen bristles. He can’t deny it, though, so he takes a pull of vodka; the scent of hand sanitizer thick in his throat as it burns its way down. 

Ian watches him. “Your hair is getting long,” he says, reaching out to tug a strand. Yassen bats his hand away. The air between them crackles. 

_ Oh _ , thinks Yassen, suddenly. 

Ian falls asleep on top of him and Yassen doesn’t move. The next morning he slips out from beneath the larger man and goes to the Marshal to apply for drift compatibility testing. 

It’s worth it a thousandfold when he steps into the room with its red mats and sees Ian’s eyes widen as he takes Yassen in. 

His eyes harden with determination. “Yassen,” he says, as if tasting his name. Yassen nods, near-imperceptible. 

The fight is a blur. It lasts so long everything blends into each other, dodging hits and trying to land their own, a give and take as they move in synchronous motion, neither at an advantage, perfectly matched. 

In the end, the Marshal calls it to a close; tells them they will be deployed together and dismisses them. 

Ian tugs off his sweat-soaked shirt—he hasn’t had the foresight to discard it before beginning like Yassen had—as the crowd disperses. “Good match,” he says, slinking into Yassen’s personal space. Yassen lets him; offers a smile of his own. 

The distance between them is thick with tension. Yassen wonders if it will explode like so many fireworks given time. 

“We should go get suited up for the test run,” he says, and watches Ian watch his lips; feels a spark of satisfaction. 

Ian hums. “Yeah,” he says. 

Neither of them move. 

“Perhaps a drink is in order first,” Yassen suggests. “To celebrate.”

Ian grins. “Sounds like a plan,” he says. 

They go back to Yassen's. Technically, they have a few hours until they need to go get suited up. 

They make the most of it; the bottle of vodka from the night before left untouched on the tiny kitchen counter as they turn their attentions to each other. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
